Sophia blinked again, not understanding what Gilberto meant. Encouraging him to continue, she whispered, “And?”
Gilberto dropped onto his haunches and looked into Sophia’s eyes. With an ominous voice he said, “Doutora Sophia, it’s them. It’s your chance to avenge Doutor Gabriel’s death. You know the police is not going up there.”
Gabriel. Sophia’s lips curled down and she blinked quickly to whisk away the tears. She knew nothing could bring him back. She swallowed hard and struggled with her decision, but an idea had already taken over her whole mind and dominated her.
Sophia looked in Gilberto’s eyes and sustained his gaze. “I won’t have their deaths on my hands. That decision belongs to God alone.” She leaned over and she whispered to her driver, “But I’ll pay a hundred thousand dollars for their left ring fingers.” And she reclined back on the chair, as if she had said the most normal thing in the world.
Gilberto stood and nodded, “Consider it done, Doutora Sophia. My brother will speak with the head of the drug cartel and give the order. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Gilberto, please, one more thing.”
“Anything.” If he could decide for her, he would have ordered all the twelve men killed. But that was her decision to make. He shrugged. Sometimes, outsiders didn’t understand the harsh law that governed the underworld of the slums.
Sophia sat erect on the sofa, a fevered light appearing in her eyes. “I want them to know who ordered it. I want them to know what they made Gabriel suffer.” And a dark smile spread on her face. “I want them to fear me for the rest of their lives.”
Chapter 12
Atwood House.
Thursday, March 25th, 2010.
12.54 a.m.
Sophia’s hand stopped in midair, as she became suddenly aware that Alistair was leaning on her bathroom doorjamb watching her. She looked at his face in the mirror. Could you handle my confession?
“Can’t sleep?” he asked as he stepped into the bathroom. What put this anguished look on your face, Sophia? She nodded tight-lipped, and he stretched his hands, pulling her in his arms, He put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded them. They felt like rocks under his fingers. “Come to bed. I’ll give you a relaxing massage.”
Walking back to the bedroom, Alistair frowned at Sophia’s lowered face hidden behind the curtain of her hair.
As he let go of her hand, the worry he’d been feeling since Sunday evening returned to eat at him again. Sophia felt like a scared rabbit that ran from him as soon as he got close.
“Sophia. Talk to me.”
I can’t... With a strangled sob, she flung herself onto his chest, burrowing her face in the hollow of his neck. An uncontrollable trembling shook her as tears fell down her cheeks and soaked his skin.
Alistair frowned in concern. He laid back down and held her while she cried, soothing her with murmured words in Gaelic.
But she had opened the gates of a dam.
He was becoming seriously worried. She was ice cold and trembling. “What happened, Sophia? Why are you crying?”
She just shook her head and cried harder. I love you. But I’m not the woman you think I am.
He gently rubbed her back and waited for the storm to pass. The suddenness of the outburst was no less startling than the fact that it had never happened before. As the sobs began to subside, she relaxed against him.
“It’s okay. Everything is okay.”
She burrowed her face on his neck like a child and used the sheet to wipe away the tears from his chest and her face.
Alistair had touched her body and soul liked no one had done before and to whom, quite unexpectedly, she had given her heart.
At last, a final shuddering sigh escaped her, and her breathing quietened. With thoughts of her dark past and her uncertain future crowding her, Sophia drifted off to sleep in Alistair’s arms.
Lying awake in the darkness of her room, he tried to piece together her behavior. He knew that she was holding something back from him. But Alistair wasn’t sure if he was prepared to know what it was. If he wanted to discover that his dark-haired angel was not so pure.
Disturbed by his many doubts, it was a long time before he drifted off to sleep.
The City of London Bank Headquarters.
Thursday, March 25th, 2010.
11.23 a.m.
A knock on his opened door called Alistair’s attention away from the floor plans he was studying. As Tavish walked into the room, he motioned for him to approach his computer, “Come and see. Rae sent me his ideas for the opening.”
“I went there yesterday, Alistair Connor. The refurbishment is almost finished. I have the guest list ready and I just received the invitation samples.” He opened his MacBook Air and showed his brother some images of the gallery. “I wouldn’t put that on the show,” he pointed to one of photographs. “Nor this,” he pointed to another and narrowed his eyes at the screen. “In fact, Alistair Connor, I told Maddox and Brent yesterday that we shouldn’t display multiples. Only originals.”
“Hm. You’ve been studying.” I have chosen the right place for you, Tavish Uilleam. Art will help you heal.
“Well, you know art has always been a hobby,” he circled the desk and sat in the armchair. “So, you’ve moved in with Sophia.”
“No. I haven’t.” Alistair looked up from the laptop, stunned. Not yet. “Why do you say that?”
Tavish smiled. “Do you know that since you started screwing-”
“More respect, Tavish Uilleam.” Alistair frowned.
“Very well. Since immaculate Sophia-” He stopped at Alistair’s scowl, chuckling. “Alistair Connor, relax. I’m just joking.”
“I am not. Get to the point.”
“Come on, Brother. Since you two have... Err...” he waved his hand in the air, “you’ve slept in your apartment only twice.”
Alistair’s frown deepened, “That can’t be right.”
“You lost track?” He smiled. “Garrick would never say a word, but I know he’s been taking your clothes over to her house every morning. The least you could do is take them yourself the night before.”
Alistair leaned back on his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Tavish’s smile grew, “So, when are you going to propose?”
“I beg your pardon?” he blinked.
“When are you going to propose?” Tavish repeated. “When is the wedding?”
“Father told you?” he gapped. “I asked him not to.”
Tavish’s mouth dropped open before he banged his hand on the arm of his chair. “I knew it! Even after everything, Alistair Connor, you still are the most helpless romantic alive.”
“Tavish Uilleam. I haven’t talked to her yet. It’s only been a couple of weeks that Sophia and I have... That we’ve been...”
“Fucking,” Tavish provided, too amused to care about the consequences.
Alistair rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed, “Aye. That.”
“So? Is she pregnant already?”
Alistair’s face darkened.
“You’re speaking out of turn, Tavish Uilleam.” He looked down at the invitation samples on the screen, trying to control his anger. “Now, which one of these have you decided on?”